"We knew that you were to meet Captain Snodgrass and lunch with him at
one o'clock at the Rataplan. Your man Marston, when he visited Mr.
Carpenter this morning, managed inadvertently to furnish the key-word of
the Clephane letter. Do you see whither your meeting with Snodgrass, an
ex-officer of the Army, in view of the translation of the letter leads,
Madeline? Marston, I might remark, was quickly apprehended; if he made a
copy of the letter, he had no opportunity to use it. Well, you went to
the Rataplan with Snodgrass--every movement you two made, from the time
you joined Snodgrass at the Chateau until I myself put you in my cab
when you returned to the hotel, was observed by numerous and competent
shadows. We were convinced that you were to receive the formula--"
"What formula, Guy?"
"The formula mentioned in the Clephane letter," he explained; "which
formula you received from Snodgrass during the ride back from the
Rataplan to the Chateau. He received it there by post, and got it from
his box as you were leaving. He even was foolish enough to open the
original envelope, and to put the one enclosed, unopened in his pocket.
You immediately took a taxi for the Chateau. My taxi was close behind
yours; and I caught you as you were alighting and hurried you off to--"
"This pleasant appointment!" she laughed. "I suppose, Guy, you want the
envelope and contents--which you assume Captain Snodgrass transferred to
me in the taxi; _n'est-ce pas?_"
"Exactly, Madeline."
"And it's three strong men and one woman against poor me," she
shrugged--"unless Mrs. Clephane is merely a disinterested spectator."
"I am always interested in what Mr. Harleston does," Edith replied
sweetly.
"Particularly when he is doing another woman," was the retort.
"It depends somewhat on the woman done," said Edith.
"Why are you here?" Mrs. Spencer laughed.
"To see the end of the affair of the cab-of-the-sleeping-horse."
Mrs. Spencer shrugged and turned to Harleston.
"Do you expect to end it, Guy?" she asked. "Because if you do, and this
formulaic letter, that you think I have, will end it, I am sorry indeed
to disappoint you. I haven't that letter, nor do I know anything as to
it."
"In that event you have the consideration which you were to pay for the
letter," Harleston returned.
"My dear Guy, where would I carry this consideration?" she laughed, with
a sweeping motion to her narrow lingerie gown that could not so much as
conceal a pocket.
"I don't imagine that you are carrying gold or even Bank of England
notes. You're not so crude. The consideration is, most likely, a note to
the German Ambassador, on the presentation of which the money will be
paid in good American gold. And I'm so sure of the facts that it is
either the formula or the consideration. The latter we shall not
appropriate; the former we shall keep."
"And if I have neither?" she asked.
"Then we get neither--though that is a consummation most unlikely."
"And how are you to determine?"
"By your gracious surrender of it!"
She laughed softly. "But if I am not able to be gracious?"
"I trust that we shall not be obliged to go so far." And when she would
have answered he cut her short, courteously but with finality. "You've
lost, Madeline; now be a good loser. You've won from me, and made me pay
stakes and then some--and I've paid and smiled."
"Exactly! You've paid; I can't pay, because one loses before one pays,
and I haven't anything to lose."
"You will prove it?" he asked.
"Certainly," said she. "Do you wish me to submit to a search?"
"I don't wish it, but you have left no alternative."
"Burr!" went the telephone.
The Secretary answered. "Here is Mr. Harleston," he said and pushed the
instrument over.
"This is Ranleigh," came the voice. "We've searched the man, also the
cab, and found nothing beyond some innocent personal correspondence.
We've retained the correspondence and let the man go."
"That, I suppose," Mrs. Spencer remarked as Harleston hung up the
receiver, "was to say that Mr. Snodgrass and the cab have been
thoroughly searched and nothing suspicious found."
"Your intuition is marvellous," Harleston answered. "Major Ranleigh's
report was that exactly. Consequently, Madeline, the letter must be with
you."
"How about the consideration that Captain Snodgrass received from me in
return for the formulaic letter?" she asked. "He doesn't seem to have
had it."
"Maybe you managed both to get the letter from him and to keep the
consideration. It would not be the first time I have known you to
accomplish it."
"Only once--against you, Guy!" she laughed.
Which was a lie; but scored for her--and, for the moment, silenced him.
She shot a glance at the Secretary. He was beating a tattoo on the pad
before him and looking calmly at her--as impersonal as though she were a
door-jamb; and she understood; however much he might be inclined to aid
her, this was not the time for him even to appear interested. On another
occasion, _à deux_, he would display sufficient ardour and admiration.
At present it must be the impassive face and the judicial manner. The
business of the great Government he had the honour to represent was at
issue!
There being no help from that high and mighty quarter, she turned to
Harleston.
"Well," with a shrug of resignation, "I've lost and must pay. Here,"
opening the mesh-bag that she carried, "is the--"
She threw up her hand, and a nasty little automatic was covering the
Secretary's heart.
He gave a shout--and sat perfectly still. Mrs. Clephane, with an
exclamation of fear, laid her hand on Harleston's arm. Carpenter was
impassive. Harleston suppressed a smile.
"Tell them if I can shoot straight, Guy," Mrs. Spencer said pleasantly;
"and meanwhile do you all keep your exact distance and position. Speak
your piece, Mr. Harleston--tell his Excellency if I can shoot."
"I am quite ready to assume it without the testimony of Mr. Harleston,
or ocular demonstration in this immediate direction," the Secretary
remarked with a weak grin.
"Tell him, if I can shoot, Guy," she ordered.
"I've never seen her better," Harleston admitted "though I'm not at all
fearful for your Excellency. Mrs. Spencer won't shoot; she's only
bluffing. If you'll say the word, I'll engage to disarm her."
"Meanwhile what happens to his Excellency?" Madeline Spencer mocked.
"Nothing whatever--except a few nervous moments."
"Try it, Mr. Secretary, and find out!" she laughed across the levelled
revolver.
"Train your gun on Mr. Harleston and test him," the Secretary suggested,
attempting to be facetious and failing.
Mrs. Spencer might be, probably was, bluffing but he did not propose to
be the one to call it; the result was quite too uncertain. He had never
looked into the muzzle of a revolver, and he found the experience
distinctly unpleasant--she held the barrel so steady and pointed
straight at his heart. Diplomatic secrets were wanted of course, but
they were not to be purchased by the life of the Secretary of State,
nor even by an uncertain chance at it.
"Mr. Harleston's life isn't sufficiently valuable to the nation," she
replied, "I prefer to shoot you, if necessary--though I trust it won't
be necessary. What's a mere scrap of paper, without value save as a
means to detect its author, compared to the life of the greatest
American diplomat? Moreover, the letter would yield you nothing as to
its meaning nor its author. The meaning you already know, since you have
found the key-word to the cipher; so only the author remains; and as it
is typewritten you will have small, very small, prospect from it." She
had read the Secretary aright--and now she asked: "Am I not correct,
your Excellency?"
"I think you are," the Secretary replied, "We all are obligated and
quite ready to give our lives for our country, if the sacrifice will
benefit it in the very least; yet I can't see the obligation in this
instance, can you Harleston?"
"None in the least, sir, provided your life were at issue," Harleston
answered. "For my part, I think it isn't even seriously threatened. If
Mrs. Spencer will shift her aim to me, I'll take a chance."
Mrs. Clephane gave a suppressed exclamation and an involuntary motion of
protest--and Mrs. Spencer saw her.
"Mrs. Clephane seems to be concerned lest I accept!" she jeered.
Mrs. Clephane blushed ravishingly, and Harleston caught her in the act;
whereupon she blushed still more, and turned away.
"Play acting!" mocked Madeline Spencer--then, shrugging the matter
aside, she turned to the Secretary. "Since we two are of one mind in the
affair before us, your Excellency," she observed, "I fancy I may take it
as settled. Nevertheless you will pardon me if I don't depress my aim
until we have attended to a little matter; it will occupy us but a
moment," making a step nearer the desk and away from the others, yet
still holding them in her eye.
"What is it you wish, madame?" the Secretary inquired a trifle huskily;
his throat was becoming somewhat parched by the anxiety of the
situation.
"I see you have on your desk a small blue candle; employed, I assume,
for melting wax for your private seal," she went on. "May I trouble your
Excellency to light the aforesaid candle?"
The Secretary promptly struck a match, and managed with a most unsteady
hand to touch it to the wick.
As the flame flared up, she drew a narrow envelope from her bag and
tossed it on the desk before him.
"Now," said she, "will you be kind enough to look at the enclosure."
The Secretary took up the envelope and drew out the sheet. It was a
single sheet of the thinnest texture used for foreign correspondence. He
looked first at one side, then at the other.
"What do you see, sir?" she asked.
"The sheet is blank," he replied.
"Try the envelope," she recommended.
He turned it over. "It also is blank," he said.
"Sympathetic ink!" Carpenter laughed.
"Just what we are about to see, wise one!" she mocked. "Now, your
Excellency, will you place the envelope in the candle's flame?"
The Secretary took the envelope by the tip of one corner and held it in
the blaze until it was burned to his fingers--no writing was disclosed.
"Now the letter, please?" she directed. And when Carpenter would have
protested, she cut him short with a peremptory gesture. "Don't
interrupt, sir!" she exclaimed.
And Carpenter laughed softly and did nothing more--being, with
Harleston, in enjoyment of their chief's discomfiture.
"The letter--see--your Excellency," she repeated with a bewildering
smile.
And as the flame crept down the thin sheet, just ahead of it, apparent
to them all, crept also the writing, brought out by the heat. In a
moment it was over; the last bit of the corner burning in a brass tray
where the Secretary had dropped it.
"Now, Mr. Harleston," said Madeline Spencer, lowering her revolver as
the final flicker of the flame expired, "I am ready to submit to a
search."
Harleston glanced inquiringly at the Secretary.
"The lady is with you," the Secretary remarked with a sigh of relief.
"Very well, sir," said Harleston. "Ranleigh has a skilled woman in the
waiting-room, she will officiate in the matter. We're not likely to find
anything, but it's to provide against the chance."--And turning to
Madeline Spencer: "Whatever the outcome, madame, you will leave
Washington tonight and sail from New York on the morrow; and I should
advise you to remain abroad so long as you are in the Diplomatic
Service."
And she--knowing very well that the search was necessary, and aware that
while there was nothing incriminating upon her yet from that moment,
until the ship that carried her passed out to sea, she would be under
close espionage--answered, pleasantly as though accepting a courtesy
tendered, and with a winning smile:
"I had arranged to sail tomorrow, Mr. Harleston so it will be just as
intended. Meanwhile, I'm at the service of your female assistant. She
will find nothing, I assure you."
"Give me the pleasure of conducting you to her," Harleston replied, and
swung open the door.
"If Mrs. Clephane will trust you with me," she inflected, flouting the
other with a meaning look; which look flitted across the room to the
Secretary and changed to one of interrogation as it met his eyes--calm
eyes and steady, and with never a trace of the interest that she knew
was behind them, yet dared not show--yet awhile.
And Mrs. Clephane answered her look by a shrug; and Harleston answered
that to the Secretary by a soft chuckle. As the door closed behind
them, he remarked:
"At a more propitious time."
To which she responded:
"Which time may never come." Then she held out her hand. "Good-bye,
Guy," she smiled.
"Good-bye, Madeline," said he; "and good luck another time--with other
opponents."
"And we'll call this--"
"A stale-mate! I didn't win everything, yet what I lost was of no
moment--"
"Do you think so?" she asked sharply.
"To my client, the United States," he added. "So far as I am concerned,
Madeline, we still are friends."
He put out his hand again; she hesitated just an instant; then, with one
of her rare, frank smiles, she laid her own hand in it.
"Guy," she whispered, "she wasn't as bad as she was painted; in fact,
she wasn't bad at all--and I know."
* * * * *
"Your Secretary of State is a peculiar man?" Mrs. Clephane observed, as
she and Harleston came down the steps into the Avenue.
Harleston leaned over. "I'll confide to you that he is an egotistical
and insufferable old ass," he whispered.
"And yet he thinks he is a perfect fascinator with the ladies!" she
laughed. "Even now he is contemplating what a conquest he made of Mrs.
Spencer. It was great fun to watch her playing him; and then how
suddenly he pulled himself up and assumed a judicial manner--which
deceived no one. Certainly it didn't deceive her, for the flying look
she gave him, as she went out, was the cleverest thing she did. It told
him everything he wanted to know, and simply gorged his vanity. She may
be, doubtless is, a bad, bad lot; yet nevertheless I can't help liking
her--and for finesse and skill she is a wonder." Then she looked at him
demurely. "You're fond of her, Mr. Harleston, are you not?"
"I'm fond of her," he replied slowly; "but not as fond as I once was,
and not so long ago, I'll tell you more about it before we go in to
dinner this evening."
"I wasn't aware that we were to dine together In fact, I was thinking of
doing something else."
"But you _will_ dine with me now, won't you?" he asked meaningly.
Her eyes hesitated, and fell, and a bewitching flush stole into her
cheek; she understood that he asked of her something more than a mere
dinner. And, after a pause, she answered softly, yet not so softly but
that he heard:
"If you wish it, Monsieur Harleston."